


Rambling

by Creatortan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Insecurity, Langst, Self Loathing, Talking Too Much, Writing at 4am instead of sleeping, projecting onto ur fave, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: Lance was a talkative person, and he thought he had accepted that.





	Rambling

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao this is just me writing through some personal stuff,,,,love projecting onto my faves lol,,,,,might give this a happy ending later

Lance was always a talkative person. His voice was big and loud and it filled the room and demanded your attention. Lance thought, most of the time, he liked his voice, even if he did often forget himself and end up coming off too loud. Way too loud.

Along with his voice, Lance was loquacious. His mind was constantly jumping from thought to though, going down different rabbit holes. He was constantly telling stories, long winded anecdotes that barely connected to the conversation at hand. He told jokes, made references, observations. Above all else, Lance was always talking.

His mouth was like a faucet that someone turned on at a young age and now it couldn't stop. Words just tumbled out, awkwardly flowing from one topic to the next.

People always told Lance to be quiet, to stop talking so much, to think before he spoke. Well, Lance did think. He thought a lot. The problem was that he had too many thoughts. Even when he tried to keep them all in they would overflow and burst out. He would lay in silence, just thinking, and suddenly his thoughts would get so far ahead of him they would just start spilling out--and Lance would talk to himself, to an invisible audience. Even when no one was listening Lance was talking aloud. Talking to the air was like a pressure valve suddenly easing out. He supposed he talked aloud in case anyone was listening.

Lance talked too much, which is different than just being talkative. Lance liked being listened to. It made him feel like his words were important, that he was important, somehow. But when you talk too much, people end up filtering you out because everything you say sounds like nonsense. Lance knew this. But still, he couldn't stop talking.

Even when people told him to stop. When they told him he was too much. When he interrupted them in the middle of their shows or conversations with his own meaningless comments. Even when people outright ignored him. Lance couldn't stop talking.

Lance thought talking so much was just a part of who he was, and he thought he had accepted it. Talking too much was a byproduct of an overactive mind, and Lance couldn't stop his mind like that. He could just find people to listen to him. People who don't mind when he takes up half an hour's time rambling about nothing.

But it's a lot harder finding those people in real life. Lance dreamed about that perfect person who could listen--really listen!-- to Lance talk for hours and never be bored or annoyed with him. He...hadn't found that person yet. It seemed even the most patient people had limits. Lance seemed to be really good at wheedling out other people's limits with him.

"...and then you realize: he blamed himself the whole time! And it's so, so sad to go back and see all that foreshadowing because you know that he still hurts over this. He's such a good character. I love him so much--he pretends to be sarcastic but you know he's hurting still. He's so sensitive yanno?" Lance rambled on about the new novel he'd borrowed from Allura.

Hunk was focused on the machinery in front of him, hands working smoothly with the little tools. He gave a distracted "uh huh". Lance didn't notice.

"And it's just? Really fascinating comparing the two. Like he just....yanno...yeah..." Lance trailed off. He stared at Hunk, a worried furrow in his brow. Hunk was quiet, still working diligently. Lance swallowed thickly. All his thoughts came to a sudden, full stop.

"Lance?" Hunk said, after a minute.

"Oh, yeah, buddy?"

"...are you okay?"

"Yeah, totally!" Lance forced some cheer into his voice, grimacing at the waver. "I'm just gonna let you work, probably bother someone else."

"Okay, buddy," Hunk chuckled, "Have fun!"

Lance scurried back to his room. He curled up on his bed. The offending book stared up at him, patronizing. He took it in shaking hands and laid it face down on the floor so he couldn't see it anymore. Lance rested his chin on his knees, biting his lip to stop it from trembling.

Later, they were split up on a recon mission. Explore a planet--easy stuff.

"That alien is wearing a purple crop top," Lance said offhandedly. "Reminds me of the one my cousin Shawna had before. Except hers had sequins instead of tie-dye. Her mom hated it. I liked it though; I had one just like it and I felt so cool matching with her."

"Hey Lance, can you save it 'til later? Kinda busy here." Pidge muttered.

"Oh, okay." Lance's face fell. "I'll tone it down then, no worries."

Lance followed behind Pidge meekly, mouth resolutely shut. Pidge mumbled under their breath about how the planet's main species sounded like they were always singing. Lance once knew a girl who was always singing. He didn't mention it.

Coran approached him one day, a tablet in hand.

"Here you are, my boy! I thought this would be helpful for you!" He handed Lance the tablet. "See, now you can write down all those thoughts jumbled up in that head of yours, let out some steam--like a journal! You're a smart cookie, you are, wouldn't want any of those thoughts getting lost!"

Lance thanked Coran, ignoring the churning in his gut. The man meant well, he really did. Lance understood what he was saying--and it was a good idea! In theory.

In practice, not so much. But Lance couldn't just tell him that journals didn't work for him. Lance had tried, several times, on request of several people, to keep a journal. Each time Lance was just frustrated. It felt...useless. It didn't work for him to vent. He just felt like all of his thoughts were being wasted. He needed someone to listen to him, even if that someone was just an illusion. Lance would write in a journal, he'd really try, but then his hands wouldn't move fast enough and the words would come tumbling out of his mouth instead.

Lance kept the tablet on his desk. He refused to look at it.

Sometimes, on bad days, Lance would bitterly bite his tongue, wondering if anyone would see how awkward and out of the ordinary it was for him not to be talking. Lance hoped someone thought it was as wrong as he felt like it was.

They never did.

"Lance seemed much more focused today," Allura mentioned once, after such a day.

"It was a nice change of pace," Shiro agreed, "More mature."

"Yes, it's like he's finally taking his paladin duties seriously."

Lance laid awake at night thinking about those conversations. He wondered if it was just....him. He couldn't imagine himself not talking all the time like usual. Could he change? Was talking just a part of him? He wasn't sure. He didn't know if he'd ever be sure.

He didn't even know if he wanted the answer.


End file.
